


i don't think i want to leave you

by schlattcoindealer



Series: Alcohol Makes You Boring [Wilbur-Centric Alt. FD!AU] [4]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: "Family Dynamics" AU, Brotherly Affection, Gen, Happy Ending, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Recovery, Technoblade Provides a Hug, Wilbur Soot Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27527377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schlattcoindealer/pseuds/schlattcoindealer
Summary: "Even though he was on the path to recovery, the night-time affected Wilbur more than he’d like to admit.He wasn’t scared of the dark, or anything – hell, he usually preferred the peace of the darkness over the exposure of the sunlight. The mere atmosphere of the night-time carried chills and thoughts with it that really fucked the teen up. It was all too easy to spiral when it was late, to let the lonely shadows grip at your mind and whisper nonsense into your ears. After all, there was nobody around to disprove them – just you, your consciousness, and the ever-present ache of loneliness. He’d only ever drank at night for a reason."--Recovery is a rocky road, and a night-time storm brings forth memories that Wilbur would rather forget for good. Sensing his brother’s distress, Techno offers his affection in the best way he knows how to – with a warm cup of cocoa and a movie with a happy ending.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot
Series: Alcohol Makes You Boring [Wilbur-Centric Alt. FD!AU] [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000707
Comments: 13
Kudos: 281





	i don't think i want to leave you

**Author's Note:**

> This one's lighter than the previous two, but please still follow the tags.
> 
> Follow the tags' warnings. (Bet you're happy there's comfort this time!)
> 
> Heavy Trigger Warning for:  
> \- Past Child Abuse  
> Lighter Trigger Warnings for:  
> \- Past Alcoholism  
> \- Past Underage Drinking  
> \- Suicidal Thoughts
> 
> If you're sensitive to any of those things, you may be able to skirt around them with care, but please just be warned, OK?
> 
> \-- Title from "I'm Sorry Boris" by Wilbur Soot.

Even though he was on the path to recovery, the night-time affected Wilbur more than he’d like to admit.

He wasn’t scared of the dark, or anything – hell, he rather preferred the peace of the darkness over the exposure of the sunlight. The mere atmosphere of the night-time carried chills and thoughts with it that really fucked the teen up. It was all too easy to spiral when it was late, to let the lonely shadows grip at your mind and whisper nonsense into your ears. After all, there was nobody around to disprove them – just you, your consciousness, and the ever-present ache of loneliness. He’d only ever drank at night for a reason.

Thunder echoed through the night sky, followed by yet another lurid flash of lightning that shook Wilbur to his core. He pressed himself against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut and placing his hands over his ears. Nearly a month had passed since his incident at the train tracks, and while Wilbur felt confident in saying he was no longer at risk of breaking spontaneously, it only took a bad spot of weather to completely wreck his emotional progress. 

Tonight, he felt alone, separated from his family by an invisible wall he could not conquer. Tonight, he felt like he was sixteen again, young and angry and scared and stupidly desperate for a drink to take his mind off of the all-consuming fear.

Sitting up in his bed resignedly, the eighteen-year-old curled in on himself, cursing the empty feeling that was taking hold in his body. The familiar sensation of sleep deprivation was something Wilbur despised, the dull ache turning his arms to stone and his mind to ice. Everything was too clear, even through the haze of sleepiness. The teen hated it when his mind was clear, because clarity paved way for thinking – his new therapist was quick to inform him that it was his over-thinking that was most dangerous.

It was true; there was an ever-present voice in his head whenever he found himself thinking too clearly, whispering haunting hypotheticals of abandonment and failure. It was that exact voice that’d convinced him he needed to disappear not long ago, and Wilbur knew he shouldn’t listen to it, but it was so damn convincing with its crackling charisma and feigned wisdom. 

The only ways Wilbur knew to shut his mind up weren’t possible tonight, it would seem. If he were younger, he would have sought to numb the whispering entirely, to wash it out with a relentlessly burning blend of wines and beers and whiskeys, but Phil had completely restricted his access to alcohol (with good reason). Wilbur had sworn off of drink anyhow - if he ever spiralled again, he knew he would never be able to forgive himself. His family had already suffered enough at the hands of his cripplingly overwhelming personal issues – Wilbur would not give them anything else to worry about.

Unfortunately, though, the only other way Wilbur knew was to talk to someone – and, well, it was presently 4:32 AM on a Friday night. Most members of the household were peacefully sleeping, as they should be, leaving Wilbur alone to face his thoughts by himself. He wasn’t desperate enough to wake someone up, that would be insensitive – Phil had work tomorrow, Tommy had college, and Techno’s sleep schedule was busted enough that he needed all the sleep that he could get. They had their personal lives to maintain – Will could not demand their attention as if he deserved it anymore.

It was awfully cold tonight, lashes of rain battering at the house like an ever-present backing track to its wilder weather counterparts. Another unexpected peal of thunder made the teen almost jump out of his skin, eyes widening and flashing with fear briefly as he tried to calm his racing heartbeat.

He hated the storm more than anything; it reminded him of one of his first foster houses, nearly six years ago. He’d lived there for two weeks maximum, right in the middle of the worst stormy season Britain had seen for years, and Wilbur would never be able to forget the night his guardian finally lost her temper with him and –

Lightning flashed him out of the troubling memory again, and he realised he was shaking violently, phantom pains streaking across his shoulders like stinging reminders of the past. That had been the worst house, the one that fucked him up in the first place. He remembered leaving it with a bloodied back and a determination to never form attachments again, lest he ended up dead for it. 

Wilbur wished his room wasn’t so close to the skies - every time thunder shook the house, he found himself pressed up against the bedroom wall, silently praying for everything to finally end. It was rather pathetic, wasn’t it? He wondered how his family would react to his irrational fear. Maybe they’d look on him with pity, or maybe they’d laugh. Wilbur wouldn’t be able to blame them either way.

He practically dragged himself out of bed, half-stumbling to his feet in the pitch black of his room. Maybe a hot drink would calm him down, or warm him up, or do anything to chase away the aches clinging to his back and the ice encasing his thoughts. That was a healthy coping method, right? Wilbur was starting to pick more of those up thanks to his regular therapy sessions.

Of the family, Techno was usually the self-proclaimed master of the kettle, having long-perfected the art of hot cocoa – he was never the type of person to half-ass a practical talent. Something about his personal brewing method gave the result a homely taste that never failed to ground Wilbur and calm him down. Of course, he wouldn’t be able to recreate it now – Techno never reveals his secrets - but the teen was desperate for a solid feeling again. He needed something, anything to make him feel better, even if it was a shitty cup of store-bought cocoa.

Carefully heading out of his room and down the stairs, Wilbur grasped to the handrails for support, painfully aware of his unstable footing. It felt as though he were moving through tar, fingers lagging behind his thought processes irritatingly. Slowly but surely, he dragged himself to the kitchen, only jolting into alertness when another ripple of thunder sounded through the air. It was further away now, though it didn’t make Will jump any less. He swore under his breath, reaching to fetch the powdered chocolate from an overhead cabinet.

It spilled a little on the counter thanks to his trembling, and Wilbur felt himself tense up a little more. Apparently, compared to his older brother, he most certainly was _not_ a master of the kettle. His hands felt almost too stiff to move as he clutched at a teaspoon, doing his best to balance a heap of the substance on it without spilling. How was this so difficult? Why was this so difficult? Surely Wilbur was capable of making a warm drink for himself without needing to rely on someone, right?

Another ripple of thunder sent a jolt through his body, sending the teaspoon cluttering out of his hand and to the counter. Wilbur swore loudly despite himself, hands shaking uncontrollably. Why was self-care so hard? He was trying, he really was, but he couldn’t seem to manage it, failing at everything he put his mind to. Leaning over the counter, the teen placed a hand on his mouth, eyebrows furrowing as he felt the familiar pressure of frustrated tears come forth. This was pathetic. He couldn’t believe he was about to cry over spilled hot chocolate. He was a wreck, wasn’t he? How could someone like him ever amount to anything? How could --

“You need some help with that?” a familiar deadpan voice sounded behind him, quiet amidst the downpour of rain outside. 

Wilbur’s heart almost stopped at the sound of the noise. Oh, God, he’d woken somebody up. He spun around in panic to see Techno standing there, long pink hair loose, messy, and untied as if he’d just been lying in bed mere moments ago. He must’ve been sleeping – he was wearing his favourite pig-themed pyjamas, and for once, he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Despite the lack of tone to his voice, Will could identify the concerned expression on his face. 

God, was he going to ask him what was wrong? Was he going to ask him why the hell he was up at the ass-crack of dawn, crying over a spilled container of cocoa powder? Wilbur didn’t have answers for either of those questions. The teen knew his brother hated talking about feelings, and honestly, Wilbur wasn’t in the mood for it tonight either – he just wanted to sleep or disappear, for Christ’s sake. The teen watched with a cold sense of dread settling in his stomach as Techno opened his mouth to speak again, preparing himself for the inevitable question.

To his surprise, though, Techno didn’t ask it, stepping closer towards him and reaching to fix the fallen container of cocoa.  
“Here, I’ll show you how to make it,” he said, brushing up against his younger brother in order to take the fallen teaspoon gently. Wilbur felt his breath still in surprise for a moment as the shorter teen stood beside him, swiping away the spilled ingredient with a brisk brush of the hand.

Wilbur made a very quiet sniffling noise, reaching up to wipe at his eyes. He nodded, a quiet and breathy ‘okay’ slipping from his mouth. The corners of Techno’s lips quirked up in an almost imperceptible smile.

The pink-haired teen took a second mug from the shelf, setting it down on the table with a soft clink. Wilbur watched with interest as he reached for the sugar, cracking it open with little effort.

“You see, the art of good hot cocoa is very simple,” he started to explain quietly, explaining as he worked. “There’s only four ingredients – the cocoa, the water, the sugar, and your insatiable bloodlust.” Techno looked Wilbur over from the corner of his eyes, taking in his withdrawn posture, before continuing with an addendum - “The bloodlust is optional.”

Despite himself, Wilbur found himself chuckling weakly at his brother’s words, a sense of appreciation settling in his chest. His presence was warm, a soothing constant in the chaos the storm had kicked up. Relaxing somewhat, he found himself focusing on nothing but Techno’s calm, skilled movements, watching as he likened the creation of a good hot drink to conquering a blood-soaked battleground. Before long, the sound of the kettle heating up filled the air, drowning out everything else with its keening whistle – to anyone else, it would have been annoying, but to Wilbur, it was like music to his ears.

Techno poured the hot water with silent concentration, filling two mugs to the brim with the bubbling drink. Its warm aroma filled the air, and Wilbur let out a deep sigh as he felt the ice in his head melt away at the feeling of it. His brother took the spoon once more, stirring the drinks quietly, before placing it in the sink for later.

“Voila,” he said triumphantly. “My masterpiece is complete. Have at thee.” At that, Techno took his own mug, watching as Wilbur tentatively picked the other one up with his still-trembling hands. The ceramic was hot to the touch, returning feeling to his fingertips as he breathed in the aroma. Taking a long, drawn out sip, he let his eyes flutter closed. Yeah, that was a Techno-quality cup of cocoa alright. At its core, it was just store brand budget cocoa, but Wilbur thought that nothing could ever compare to it. He hummed a note of satisfaction, a small smile on his face as he swallowed the sip.

“Thank you, Tech,” Wilbur said at last, turning to his brother with warmth shimmering in his eyes. “I really needed that.”

Techno shrugged, stepping away from the counter, a triumphant grin settling on his face. “What can I say? I know when I’m needed.” It looked like he was about to say something, but a ripple of thunder stole the attention, and Wilbur felt himself inadvertently jolt despite himself, struggling to keep steady. Techno eyed the motion, looking thoughtful for a moment before he spoke up again. “It’s late, and I can't sleep. Wanna catch a film with me? The cable’s probably airing Elf again.” 

Wilbur raised an eyebrow. “…Again? Hasn’t that movie been playing like, 24/7 for the past week?” Techno shrugged as he started to walk in the direction of his bedroom, motioning for Wilbur to follow after him. 

“They can’t deny us orphans our quality Santa content, Wilbur. There would be so many complaints, can you imagine the cost of it?” Techno explained matter-of-factly as they walked. Wilbur chuckled again, his cheeks dusting pink as he finally warmed up. 

Side by side, the two made their way into Techno’s room. Of all the brothers’ personal spaces, it was by far the neatest, and yet it still somehow managed to radiate an inviting domestic warmth upon the two boys. Wilbur took another sip of his drink before setting his mug down, watching Techno fiddle with his little personal TV as he sat tentatively on the bed. It was soft and warm to the touch, and he was surprised to sink deep into the all-encompassing nest of blankets, enveloped by the vast amounts of cotton almost instantly.

“I can’t believe you want me to watch Elf with you in the middle of November,” Wilbur mumbled as Techno threw yet another blanket on to the bed and went to sit beside him. His brother wasn’t usually one for physical affection either, but he seemed content to let Wilbur nestle into his side, the younger sibling unconsciously seeking his warmth as he spread the blanket over them.

Techno chuckled, leaning into the contact rather than away from it, much to Will’s relief. “I’m trying to cheer you up, thank you,” he spoke, lazily slinging an arm around his brother. “Besides, even I like a film with a happy ending sometimes. Even if it is a Christmas movie.” Wilbur only laughed, relieved to find that his aching back had long faded into nothing as he laid side by side with his brother.

Thunder rumbled threateningly over the noise of the movie starting up, but for once, Wilbur found it didn’t affect him, the once-monstrous booming washing over his head like meaningless white noise. When lightning lit Techno’s window up, the pink-haired teen pulled his brother in closer, resting his head on Will’s faintly. They were like a real family, Wilbur thought. His heart warmed at that realisation.

As the movie played out, the day’s exhaustion hit him like a truck. Eyelids growing heavy, he yawned, burrowing under the covers of the bed. Beside him, he felt his brother do the same, fiddling with a remote to quieten the movie so it didn’t disrupt them. Suddenly, Wilbur felt rather cared for. Maybe it was the hot drink, or maybe it was the security of the situation – Wilbur found he didn’t care. What mattered was that he felt safe, and he felt happy.

“Get some rest, tall child,” Techno mumbled, and Wilbur snickered sleepily at the reference as his head hit the pillow. Within moments, he was asleep, a warm smile painted on his face. Techno smiled as he eyed his now-peaceful expression, fondness kindling itself in his chest.  
Laying beside him, he closed his eyes as well, mumbling a silent thanks to the heavens that he’d gotten to keep his brother for a little while longer.

**Author's Note:**

> technoblade is a good brother. also i headcanon he would absolutely be a blanket hoarder. he's ROYALTY
> 
> as usual: if you see a typo... no you don't <3


End file.
